


Not A Bad Apocalypse

by devotchka



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: AU - Multiple Tyrants, Double Penetration in One Hole, Dubious Consent, M/M, Oral Sex, Soft Mind Break
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:56:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26498263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devotchka/pseuds/devotchka
Summary: They fall into a motion after a while, just silence and the sounds of Leon panting and moaning and sucking cock, the two Tyrants taking and taking.Leon thinks that, for an apocalypse, this isn’t so bad. He questions his own morality after that.Super smutty AU in which there’s more than one Tyrant.
Relationships: Leon S. Kennedy/Mr. X | Tyrant T-00
Comments: 3
Kudos: 282





	Not A Bad Apocalypse

The fact that this isn’t an ordinary wakeup is startling in its obviousness.

Leon takes in most of the big details almost simultaneously. First, that it’s dark and freezing cold. He isn’t in bed. He’s on rigid, textured tile, like a bathroom floor, and its low temperature sets in against his skin.

Then, a spaciness in his head. He feels heavy and weak, a little out of body – almost like being on the verge of a much-needed nap after staying up all night. It makes it hard to remember how he got here.

He notices something bleachy in the air as he rolls onto his stomach, and he feels the wooden edge of a bench bumping into him. The locker room upstairs, he thinks, which would mean that he never even left the police station. So what the hell happened?

The noise he makes bumping into things alerts someone, and he can hear footsteps approaching – one large, lumbering set of them – as his mind drags up the herbs. He remembers slamming back a cocktail of whatever he could put together, and he remembers it not sitting well.

He struggles to move as his body screams that it needs rest, feeling stuck, barely able to reach for his gun. He only has time to free it from its holster before the locker room door caves in.

As soon as Leon sees the Tyrant he attempts to scramble to his feet.

It isn’t a great attempt. He feels like he can barely think, let alone move with a strong sense of purpose, and he barely manages to push himself up onto his knees before the Tyrant grabs him by the ankle and tugs him in.

Leon falls onto his chest. He grabs at the floor uselessly, finding purchase nowhere as he’s dragged into the Tyrant’s reach.

It towers above him, reaching one massive hand down and grabbing him by the arm, tugging him up to his feet like he weighs nothing.

It takes considerable effort for Leon to stay there without swaying. He wants to lay back down and go to sleep; he wants to wake up anywhere that isn’t Raccoon City.

He flinches as the Tyrant twists him around, pushing him back into the lockers and boxing him in. The Tyrant is massive; there’s no getting past it like this. Leon barely reaches it’s chest – even at almost six feet tall – and it’s broad and strong enough to shove helicopters out of it’s way.

He knows he is well and truly fucked.

The Tyrant takes Leon by his shoulders. It’s a blessing that he isn’t dead already, he thinks, and as he peeks up into the Tyrant’s face he thinks he sees something strange there– not aggression, but almost curiosity. Like it’s studying him.

It lets go of his shoulders. It cups his face with both hands, thumbs brushing against his cheeks, and Leon would be lying if he told himself this wasn’t the most surreal experience of his life.

He doesn’t look up at it as it touches his hair, his jawline, examining him like he’s the first human being it’s ever laid eyes on.

It’s fingers rub against his mouth. He flinches. He pulls away.

The Tyrant grabs at his shoulders again, and it slams him hard into the lockers with a resounding, metallic thud. It must not have liked that.

Leon cries out. The ache settles deep in his chest, radiating through his back, ensuring that he knows better than to run. His hands fly up defensively, and, for the first time, he looks the Tyrant dead in it’s eyes. He makes a gamble for his own survival, in too deep to do anything else.

“I won’t run.” He gasps, as the Tyrant stares down at him. “I promise I won’t run.”

The Tyrant says nothing, but it releases his arms almost with hesitation, and then it moves to cup his face again.

The tremble Leon feels coursing through him is definitely no longer from the cold.

The Tyrant’s fingers prod at his mouth. They push against his lips, eventually with enough force to bump into his teeth. Leon hopes that this curiosity is better than the aggression he was shown earlier, and bets that it is. He acquiesces and opens his mouth.

The Tyrant’s gloved fingers press in immediately, two of them, and they find his tongue. Leon tastes dirt and wood on them; he feels the rough texture of leather as it explores his mouth.

He wishes that he knew exactly what the creature was thinking.

It continues to treat him like a toy, particularly curious about the warm wetness of his mouth, thrusting it’s fingers even deeper. It takes everything Leon has not to flinch as they press in, not to make any noise at all.

They push in so far that they bottom out, breaching the delicate walls of his throat, and Leon can’t help but gag at that. His hands fly up on reflex to grab at the Tyrant’s wrist, and the Tyrant responds by pushing him closer into the wall, its fingers insistent and not budging.

They recede only to push back in, thrusting deep, feeling him out.

Leon whimpers. The vibration shoots right to the Tyrant’s fingers, and it presses its free hand against the outside of Leon’s throat with curiosity.

That’s when Leon hears a second set of large, lumbering footsteps on approach.

He looks past the Tyrant just in time to see a second one duck under the doorframe, stepping into the locker room, and for a moment his mind stops working entirely.

How many of them _are_ there?

The first Tyrant withdraws it’s fingers from his mouth, and Leon thanks god for the small things. He can breathe comfortably for the time being.

The first Tyrant turns and looks at the second Tyrant. Leon doesn’t know what kind of non-verbal exchange they have; all he knows is that, suddenly, he’s being grabbed at and twisted around, turned to face the second Tyrant, the first holding him still by his arms.

His heart beats wildly in his chest, and he can hear his own short, hitching breaths, feeling terrified beyond anything he’s known before.

The second Tyrant steps toward him and Leon flinches, turning his head just to have it strongly turned back. He’s at their mercy entirely and he knows so.

The thing that’s strangest about the whole encounter is that, while terrified, he still doesn’t know what these Tyrants want from him. He feels like he’s being put on display in between them, an offering from one Tyrant to another.

He can still hardly believe that there are multiple Tyrants, but it makes sense when he applies some rationality. He understands now how they always seemed to get around so quickly, how it felt like they were everywhere all at once, how he couldn’t catch a break no matter where he went.

The second Tyrant holds his face in one massive hand and stares him down. Leon can’t read any kind of emotion there – maybe a sort of interest, if he had to guess, like a predator smelling prey.

It’s fingers entwine themselves in his hair, and then it’s balling up its fist and tugging hard. It pulls him downwards, and Leon sinks to his knees. The Tyrant must have figured out what it wants to do to him. Leon bites back the urge to beg for his safety.

Once he’s down on his knees in between the Tyrants he realizes just how trapped he is, and just how _big_ they are. The Tyrant in front grabs at his face again, fingers digging into his cheeks, swiping across his lips, prying his mouth open like it’s no trouble at all.

His fear blurs into disbelief, then, as the Tyrant pulls out his half hard cock.

He doesn’t have the luxury of dwelling on it, or of figuring out his feelings. He doesn’t struggle. Instead he freezes up, flinching back only slightly, held in place by the Tyrant.

His mouth is pried open, and despite his weak struggling there’s nowhere he can go.

The taste of skin against his tongue sends adrenaline coursing through him. This is happening, he thinks, _really happening_ to him.

The Tyrant shoves the first few inches of it’s cock into Leon’s mouth, slipping it’s fingers free, and Leon doesn’t dare bite down. Making a mistake here could cost him his life. He chooses, for now, to be obedient.

He can feel the Tyrant’s cock starting to get hard as it moves its hips, beginning to thrust into his mouth, and that only makes it worse. The Tyrant’s grip is tight. It keeps him from pulling back despite his growing need to, and suddenly it’s forcing its cock way too far down. It pushes into Leon’s throat and he immediately gags, retching and tugging against him.

He tries again to pull back and is met with his head being shoved forward one more time. He can feel his body lurching, and he wants to be anywhere but here, anywhere but at the mercy of the two Tyrants.

Leon struggles to just relax, to will himself to at least breathe comfortably despite his body doing everything it can to reject the notion. Spit trails down his chin and neck; it makes a slick, wet sound in time with each thrust into his mouth.

He’s never had anything rammed down his throat like this before.

Behind him, the first Tyrant kneels down to his level, and it grabs at his clothes. Leon whimpers around the cock in his mouth as his belt is ripped free, and then the Tyrant behind him is tugging his pants down his thighs.

He tells himself that, if he could, he’d be begging them not to do this to him.

The Tyrant in front thrusts into Leon’s throat at a steady, deep rhythm, and Leon focuses on his breathing, in and out, through his nose. He focuses on finding a way out of this mess. He denies the arousal building deep inside of him.

He’s completely exposed, and while he can’t _see_ what the Tyrant behind him is planning, he’s got a good idea. That idea confirms itself once he feels the thick, warm tip of it’s cock pressing up against his hole, and he instinctively flinches away from it.

It’s like the Tyrant doesn’t even notice. It shoves itself forward, pressing itself into Leon, finally breaching him.

Leon moans around the cock in his mouth.

The stretch is immediate, and the feeling gratifying. The Tyrant grabs at his waist and holds him there, pounding into him immediately, and the sudden fullness aches in the most rewarding way. The Tyrant forces more and more of itself into him with each thrust. Leon takes it obediently.

He’s at the mercy of the two Tyrants with no chance of fighting back. His body is still weak and pliant, and his mind isn’t fairing much better. Some part of him, deep down, feels like this might feel _good_.

The throat fucking is even getting easier. Leon relaxes into it, and without so much resistance the Tyrant’s cock slides down his throat, pushing past his gag reflex and into warm, tight walls.

The Tyrant behind him grips his waist, fucking into him with harsh, unrestricted motions, it’s cock enormous and overwhelming. It fills Leon completely. It’s a feeling he never knew he’d been missing, that vulnerability, that helplessness and submission.

They fall into a motion after a while, just silence and the sounds of Leon panting and moaning and sucking cock, the two Tyrants taking and taking.

Leon thinks, for an apocalypse, that this isn’t so bad. He questions his own morality after that.

He’s surprised when the first Tyrant grabs at him, tugging him off its cock, it’s large hand holding him in place by his soft, blond hair. He’s surprised by the disappointment that washes over him, mostly.

Then the second Tyrant is pulling out of him, and Leon doesn’t know what kind of nonverbal communication they’ve been up to since he’s been busying himself with getting them off, but they move in synch, tugging Leon up to his feet first, and then higher.

Leon’s legs instinctively wrap around the Tyrant he’s facing, his back pressed up against the one behind him. He feels weightless, overwhelmed, almost out of body. Immediately, the Tyrant behind him is pressing it’s cock against his abused hole again, intent on shoving it’s way in.

Then the first Tyrant joins in. It isn’t until then – both Tyrants rubbing up against his hole, trying to push into him – that he realizes what they’re planning on doing.

He doesn’t hate it. Rather, he _likes_ it.

There’s no coordination, both Tyrants moving for the sake of their own pleasure, Leon’s head dropping back against one firm shoulder as he begs, “Oh, god, please, give it to me.”

He struggles to spread his legs wider, his hips aching as the Tyrant behind him finally succeeds in pushing the head of its cock through. Leon moans unashamedly. He doesn’t know if he can take any more, but he _wants_ to.

The second Tyrant is thrusting up and into Leon, bouncing him in it’s lap, as the first Tyrant lines itself up one more time. Leon can’t imagine what it’s going to feel like, already so full.

There’s a little pain, and a lot of pressure. The first Tyrant finally, finally lines itself up in just the right way, stretching Leon open, pushing into him right beside the second Tyrant’s cock.

Leon moans obscenities and half formed encouragement, taking inch after inch, his hands clenching around whatever they can grasp. Pleasure builds in him quickly, each Tyrant ramming into a spot in him that sends shockwaves up his spine, a spot that makes him tense and arch his back and want to scream.

He’s never been so _full_ before.

He comes hard and sudden, the relentless pounding into him by both Tyrants only prolonging it, forcing him into the most intense orgasm of his life. His legs tremble, and if he weren’t being held up so easily he would collapse.

The Tyrants, he immediately realizes, are not going to be so easy to get off. They continue to bounce Leon between the two of them, fucking him hard and fast, and Leon’s oversensitive body greedily takes all of it.

He’s aware that he’s begging – that those weak, needy sounds are coming from _him_ , and that he’s got a long way to go until these Tyrants are done with him.

He isn’t going to complain. As far as apocalypses go – as far as being _hunted_ goes – it’s good.


End file.
